Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“All children are gifts and blessings.” She says it by rote, as if reciting some law.
My distrust grows. I narrow my eyes. “Back in the human realm, you worshipped that great sadist of a god, didn’t you?”
That gets a response. She jerks back. “You can’t say things like that.” Then she shakes her head hard. “Sorry, that was rude. But describing Him like that . . .” She swallows visibly. “I am no longer associated with that church, but sometimes I react the way I was raised to, instead of how I believe now.”
It’s as much a confirmation as the shame oozing from her pores. I have to look away, have to take a moment to lock myself down. A good leader doesn’t let their emotions get the best of them, especially when being careless may hurt one of their people. By virtue of the contract, Belladonna is one of mine now. “What were the terms of your deal with Azazel?”
“Seven years of service in exchange for money for my sister, designated for treatment, college, and a trust fund.” She drags in a shuddering breath. “She’s sick, and I’m afraid she’ll die without treatment. My parents don’t have money for it, and now they have no excuse not to get her treatment. Azazel will make sure it happens.”
There’s something there, just beneath her words—a thread of anger that thrums through my bones. Curiosity almost makes me reckless, but I have seven years. I don’t need every answer this woman has to give in a single hour. “Tomorrow, I’ll give you a proper tour of the manor and the town, but for now, just know that you’re safe.”
“Safe.” She gives a sad little laugh. “I suppose I am.” Belladonna takes a deep breath and rises. Before I register what she’s about, she pulls at her dress, sending it cascading to the floor and leaving her gloriously naked.
I am who I am. I can’t help but visually trace the curve of her hips, her soft belly, her heavy breasts, each topped with perfect berry nipples. The flush beneath her skin increases with each beat that passes, spreading from her cheeks down her neck and over her chest. Lust, tentative and sweet, layers the air between us.
I clear my throat. “What are you doing?”
“Honoring the terms of my contract.” The shake in her voice makes its way through her body, terror washing away that hint of lust.
Terror.
A little fear can spice up bedroom games, but this is something else. I drag my attention to her face and keep it there. “You don’t want to.”
“I do.” Her desires are all tangled up with shame and fear and something infinitely more complicated. I can’t get a proper read on her, but even if she were fully willing, things are done a certain way. This is . . . crass.
I rise, noting the way she flinches. “No, you don’t.” I turn away, then move to the wardrobe near the bathroom door and rifle through it until I come up with a thick robe. I retrace my steps and drape it carefully around her shoulders. She’s still trembling, but as she inhales, her shivers ease.
I wait for her to look up at me before I speak. “But when you do want to, Belladonna?” I lean down and brush a kiss against her temple. “Well, then we’ll see what’s beneath all that shame you carry.”
There’s nothing to do but leave. She has my nerves strung too tightly. I didn’t expect this, as someone who has dealt with humans more than most people in this realm. The other territory leaders would have boggled this. Sol is too intent on an heir, Thane is too cold and out of touch for anything resembling a relationship, and Bram has more baggage than Belladonna. Azazel was right to give her to me.
Still, it doesn’t sit well with me.
I intended to seduce my new human to the fullest extent of my considerable abilities. Apparently I need to take a subtler approach. Being delicate hardly outside my skill set, but it’s not my preferred way of moving through the world.
This is going to be . . . interesting.
5
BELLADONNA
Idon’t expect sleep, but it takes me in a stealthy wave, sucking me under and sending me to blessed oblivion. The dream forms around me slowly, so slowly that I barely register it until I’m sitting on a throne. The chair warm against my back and tall enough that my toes barely brush the floor. The moment I notice the floor, it’s as if a veil is pulled from the scene before me.
There’s a woman, dark-haired and wearing a dress held together by two tiny straps over her shoulders. She’s dancing with a partner I can’t quite define, their edges slipping away from me every time I try to focus on them. I’m not a dancer—music not of the church was strictly forbidden when I was growing up, a temptation designed to draw good God-fearing Christians from their path. I still haven’t quite managed to stop feeling guilty when I listen to the radio, but I’m working on it. This music has no words, though. It’s deep and throbbing, seeming to take up residence in my chest and . . . lower.